I have always suspected...

that crying did actually relieve stress - but it is apparently a verifiable, scientific fact.  And I could use a good cry right about now.  Seriously.  I don't know when I have felt so overwhelmed and so ill-equipped to deal with everything.  I am frantically trying to catch up on all of the work I let slide during tax season, my house is a disaster area and I am emotionally drained listening to people who seem to feel comfortable revealing their deepest, darkest secrets to me.  I tell you - that therapy chair has got to go.  People feel better when they leave here - having dumped all of their troubles on me, but consequently I feel like crap.  I honestly don't know how mental health counselors and psychotherapists do their jobs - or if they burn out after a few years of listening to other people's problems.  Maybe they just cry a lot.  Or change the subject.  I'm not looking to open a psychotherapy practice and unfortunately, I don't know a nice way to tell people that I don't want to hear their tales of woe.  Really - is there a nice way?  I have suggested professional counseling to the person who is currently spending a considerable amount of time in the chair, but that suggestion has not been acted upon as of yet.  I know that the main goal of therapy is to help the client work out his own issues, but I can't sit here and do the nod and repeat-the-client's-thought-in-different-words thing.  Sorry, Dr. Rogers.  I can listen sympathetically up to a point and then I end up doling out good, sound Lucy VanPelt-style advice.  And dang it, if you sit in my therapy chair and ask for my opinion on your situation and advice on how to deal with it, then you dang well ought to take said advice seriously - or at least give it some consideration.  And therein lies the problem; the tale of woe continues and the what-should-I-do question is reworded - hoping for the answer the occupant of the chair wants to hear - but I'm wise to that ploy.  I am not going to listen to the whole megillah only to give someone permission to continue the same destructive behavior.  And so I repeat the same advice: do the right thing, sh-t or get off the pot, as my grandmother would say.  Of course, no one is really going to listen to me - people just want to put in the chair time so they feel better.
As for me, I think I'll just have a good cry.

Angels unaware...

I just read a blog post that broke my heart - and really pissed me off, all at once.  I had stop following this particular blogger a while back because I just couldn't take the self-absorbed whining any more.  When I first started blogging and ran across her blog, I liked her voice and admired the things she wrote about her family and faith, as well as their commitment to mission work.  Then somewhere along the way, I realized that sharing her thoughts was all a self-promotion thing and well, frankly, it turned me off.  I stopped following a couple other look-at-me blogs around the same time - but every once in a while I get curious and check them out to see what I've missed.  And today I read the post that hurt me to the depths of my soul.  She actually wrote about her personal struggle with including a motherless, hungry child begging for attention with her own kids at playtime - and even worse, at meal time.  Honestly, what person who professes to love God would have to think twice about inviting this lost soul in?  And are we not supposed to give our gifts in private, so the Lord, who sees everything will reward us?  I know, I'm judging - none of us is perfect, but don't shout to the rooftops (or the world wide web) what a good Christian you are if you are too blind to entertain an angel when God puts one right in front of you.

Lord forgive me, I'm getting off the soapbox now.

I should not have to remind myself...

of the proper way to behave.

Just saying.

My pet peeve...

or one of them, anyway, is good grammar.  Punctuation is good, too - but spelling and grammar are a reflection of a person's intelligence.  And attention to detail.  And well, just being a good person.  It appears that I am not the only one who feels this way...

I love it!

I want...

a decadent chocolate cupcake.  I'd settle for a Hershey bar.  I want to take a nap.  I want to go to the movies and get a big tub of buttered popcorn.  I want it to snow.  I'd be happy with  a big cup of Sonic ice.  I want to live near a grocery store that delivers.  I don't care if I ever cook again.  I want Aggie to be a puppy again.  I am thankful that she's a sweet, healthy twelve-year-old little dog.  I want all this paperwork to miraculously do itself.  I'm glad that I have work to do.  I want these dumb asses to stop blowing dirt from the sidewalk under my door.  I really mean that.
Nothing else will make me happy.

Except for the chocolate cupcake.

I have a serious character flaw...

or at least I think it's me: I don't suffer fools gladly.  In fact, given a choice, I don't suffer them at all.  But every now and then, I am blessed - or cursed, depending on how you look at it, to cross paths with a bona fide fool who, for one reason or another, sticks to me like glue.  The partciular fool to whom I refer today is a client who has a small business.  Now, mind you, I have been advising this person on this small business for over two years and I have dutifully and painstakingly explained a) the difference between operating as a corporation and being self-employed; 2. the importance of paying oneself a salary from said corporation while paying the required payroll taxes and filing the necessary payroll tax returns on a quarterly basis; and D. the necessity of filing an annual report with the State of Florida by April 30 of each calendar year (cost: $150) to remain a corporate entity.  I have explained these three elementary concepts on at least six occasions using essentially the same language at each meeting.  The fool made copious notes on various scraps of paper, nodding her understanding all the while.  And so I was quite surprised the other day when I received an email stating the intention of the State of Florida to dissolve said fool's corporation for failure to file an annual report by the April 30 deadline.  Fine for this offense: $400 - plus the original $150 annual fee to reinstate the corporation.  Now - I diligently remind all of my clients to file their annual reports - and I actually file the reports online for my bookkeeping clients.  I called this fool on April 28 and left a detailed message, giving specific instructions about the annual report, its cost and the penalty for failing to file.  My clients are all adults and ought to take responsibility for themselves.  Most do.  A few don't.  So when I saw this fool, she gave me the information for her 2010 tax return and I tried to ascertain how she wanted to file - as self-employed individual or as a corporation - which, given the fact that she went for an entire year without depositing any funds into her business account, and did not pay herself a salary from the corporation - was a no-brainer.  She is technically self-employed, and not a corporation.  She cannot fathom the difference and the tax repercussions of failing to take advantage of her corporate status.  Assuming she had given up on the corporation, I asked why she had not filed her annual report.  "I didn't know," came the reply.  I reminded her that I left a message about the need to file on time.  Her response was to burst into tears and suggest that we write the state a letter asking them to waive the fine because she "didn't know."  At that point, I was ready to come unglued.  I do not know how stupid people survive in this life.  This is a terrible thing to say, but no amount of explanation, education or wishful thinking can make a stupid person smart.  I decided right then to just shut up and let the fool do her own foolish thing.  Right or wrong, I've vowed not to explain anything else, not to answer any more questions and to definitely not give any more advice.  I have a choice not to suffer this fool any more - and I am glad.

Crispers...

Against my better judgment, I’m meeting a friend for lunch at Crispers today.  Yes, I’m looking forward to my Signature Summer Salad – I know, I’m in a rut – but I am not looking forward to the inane, incessant babbling of my friend.  That’s a terrible thing to say, I know, but it’s true.  My grandma used to tell us that the only way to have a friend is to be one, and I am trying, but sometimes it’s hard to be friends with someone you don’t have much, if anything, in common with.  One of my clients referred this person to me when she needed tax advice and I hired her to clean my office once a month.  I know it’s partly my fault for being friendly and listening to her amazing variety of problems and personal drama, but once you’ve heard all the gory details – and I mean all of them – you’ve sort of attained friend status without meaning to.  She’s over forty going on sixteen – mainly due to having fried her brain on drugs and alcohol when she was a teenager.  She’s had a million jobs, some of them probably unsavory, but she’s been sober for ten years, so I have to give her credit for that.  I have a history of taking on rescue projects and really, I didn’t mean to take on another one, but it looks like I have – whether I am happy about it or not.  Since I moved the office home, and I don’t really need cleaning help, I’ve managed to keep our contact to a minimum.  But, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to lunch and it’s far too late to cancel without being completely rude.  I know this makes me seem like an unfeeling ogre or something, but I like to have an uplifting conversation about books or movies or just life once in awhile instead of he-said-she-said drama, financial difficulties or all the bad news on television.  Maybe I’m the one with my head in the clouds – is everyone’s life so dramatic?  I’ve always tried to avoid drama – heck, I even quit working for the last guy I worked for because he had altogether too much drama in his life, from taking on a crazed mortgage broker partner to dating a pole dancer I called Stripperella.  I even try to minimize the potential drama in my own life by just letting things go.  I guess the other reason I’m not looking forward to lunch is that this woman insists upon asking me if I’ve heard from Tim or if I’m still upset about the whole situation.  It’s like she’s disappointed that I’m not crushed or brokenhearted.  And even if I were, I damn sure wouldn’t talk to an emotional forty-seven year old teenager about it.  The last time I saw her she asked me if there was anyone new in my life.  I actually laughed.  She’s amazed that I don’t want anyone new in my life – and I explained to her that I don’t define myself in terms of a relationship with a man and I never have.  And that she ought not to define her self-worth that way either.  She’s not taken my advice so far and I seriously doubt that she ever will.  I am perfectly happy on my own with my dog and my cat.  I have my own place and books to read.  I have friends that I can actually have a conversation with that doesn’t involve drama.  As mean as it may sound, I think it’s time to start backing away from this friendship; staying home, reading a book and eating a peanut butter sandwich with Aggie and Peter is much more appealing.

Kids and shiny bones...

Children don’t seem to realize that some things are decorative.  Case in point: my jar full of colorful dominos.  It seems like every child that darkens my door and spots them on the desk wants to play with them – and their indulgent, anti-disciplinarian parents are more than willing to let them.  This is the third time this week that I’ve caught Aggie in the living room with a wayward domino in her mouth.  I know they’re too big for her to choke on, but still.  Guess I’ll have to move the jar to a spot where it will be unseen by little eyes looking for toys - like my reading table in the living room.  I say lash the troublemakers to their car seats, roll the windows all the way down and leave the little rugrats in the car, but that’s just me.

Hospitality...

is over-rated.  Or maybe I'm just getting anti-social in my old age.  At any rate, I have been pondering what to do for Thanksgiving.  It's just me and Aggie and Peter - and I have decided that I'm just going to think of it as just another Thursday.  See, I used to be a fairly gracious hostess and I enjoyed having people over for dinner and celebrating holidays.  I am a pretty good cook and when guests came for dinner, no one ever left the kitchen.  It was a big room with a dining table, lots of chairs and a love seat - so I had lots of company while I was preparing the meal.  I haven't felt much like celebrating anything the last couple of years but I had decided that I was more in the holiday spirit this year.  Most of my friends have families and other plans - but I learned years ago when I was away at college that some of the best holiday celebrations are made up of groups of "strays."  With that in mind, I pondered inviting guests for Thanksgiving dinner.  Yes! - I knew exactly who to invite!  And then I realized that if I invited them, I would also have to invite their whining, petulant, spoiled, obnoxious, boneheaded seven-year-old son and my urge to entertain was gone entirely.  It's not that I'm a child-hater.  I just hate that one.  Maybe he suffers from only child syndrome, I don't know.  All I can say is that he brings out the urge to slap in me and that is definitely not a good thing.  He whines like a little girl and I just want to shake him and shriek, "Man up, kid!"  I like a kid who isn't afraid of anything and comes right in and makes himself at home.  My friend Ariela's four-year-old marches in, hugs Aggie, takes off his shoes, checks out the contents of the refrigerator and looks for a DVD to watch.  No whining, no wheedling, no fuss.  My kind of guest - who is, unfortunately, busy for turkey day.  And so, since I refuse to give myself a holiday migraine from clenching my teeth, Aggie, Pete and I will be inhospitable once again this year, dining on Boar's Head smoked turkey sandwiches and watching Monk reruns.

On second thought, that doesn't sound too bad...

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day...

also known as Wednesday - and it's only getting worse.  If that can even possibly happen.  I feel like Alexander from the old Judith Viorst book (thank you, Judith for the blog post title!) - did you ever read it when you were a kid?  Thinking about that book is about the only thing that has kept me from bursting into tears today - and over a computer!  Honestly, I could just puke.  Something somehow ate my Outlook pst file - and now all of my calendar, contacts, tasks and emails are gone.  I have struggled mightily to even find the hidden file where all of the data is stored!  Once I did manage to find the thing - thanks to help from a client's computer nerd buddy - I am unable to repair it because my MS Office installation is lacking the file needed and I don't have the disk - Tim does.  And while I am sure he doesn't have the disk with him, he is also not patient at all with me when providing computer assistance.  He acts like I am the village idiot even though I actually possess an above-average IQ - and well, I admit that he pisses me off a little when he does that.  Consequently, computer support sessions in which both of us participate do not go well.  At all.  I am at the point where I realize that I am going to have to break down and pay for a utility program that specifically scans and repairs my pst file - which, come to find out, is a problem when your file grows to over 2 gigbytes in size, which mine apparently has.  I haven't thrown anything and my computer has not moved from its spot on my desk, so I am at least trying to remain calm.

Trying.  Really trying.

Oatmeal...

is a marvelous thing.  It's easy to make, fills you up and is bland enough to eat when you have an upset stomach.  And it didn't come from WalMart.

Just saying.

Does WalMart ever make you sick?

No, I don't mean the sheer commercialism and the fact that they have all their Christmas stuff out and it's not even Halloween yet.  I mean literally.  Nausea and vomiting sick.  Dizzy and unable to keep anything down sick.  Okay, I may be slightly crazy (who isn't?) but I am not a hypochondriac.  Every time I go to WalMart, I am sick the following day.  Yesterday, I went there to buy two reams of printer paper, a box of envelopes and a package of labels to print address labels.  Everyone knows they have the best prices on this stuff.  While I was there I bought two bagels: one whole wheat (which I ate for breakfast) and one everything bagel, which I ate for lunch.  That's all I ate all day long.  By ten last night, I was sick.  Sick, sick, sick and wanting to curl up and die.  I can't blame this on the Chinese food because that was long gone by then.  All I ate all day long was those two bagels - and I didn't even put anything on them - no butter, no schmear.  I don't know if it's something in the air at WalMart, all of the sick people infecting the air while they wait for their $4 prescriptions or all the stuff that's made in China.  I mean, it could be a Communist plot.  Or a Socialist plot, at the very least.  See, I'm still slightly delirious.

At the risk of sounding political...

or offending anyone - but then who really reads my blog anyway - I cannot for the life of me imagine why people are so up in arms about the fact that Christine O'Donnell, Republican Senate candidate for the minute state of Delaware, has no job and no experience and yet has the - gasp! - audacity to run for public office.  Well, people, the facts are these:

Stupid people (also from Delaware) and

seemingly stupid people run for office all the time.

Some get elected as second banana but fortunately people realize the error of their ways when said candidate seeks even higher office.  And finally,

individuals with no job and no experience, to speak of, actually do get elected.  I'm still not sure why.

And that is all I have to say about that - I have put my soapbox away.

Someone just slap me...

if I ever read another Patricia Cornwell book.  I've finished it, so now I can complain.  The woman is nuts.  Certifiably nuts - and she makes more money than God selling her overly technical, pedantic crime novels.  This dumb book brought back the preposterous wolfman of the French crime family that for some unknown reason had targeted Benton in the past - to such a degree that he faked his own death and left Kay hanging for six years.  Then the idiot married him anyway.  Marino sexually assaulted Kay in one of the last books and they're still friends - and Lucy is still operating outside the law while having an affair with the ADA in charge of the New York Sex Crimes unit.  I swear the plot was so convoluted - and I could just spit, it was so ridiculous.  It was so far-fetched it wasn't even entertaining.  There were so many peripheral characters that weren't remotely germane to the story - and maybe she intended them to be red herrings, but it sure didn't work out that way.  Cornwell always says that Scarpetta isn't her alter ego, but after reading this, I think that Scarpetta is her other personality.  Then I read this blurb that says Cornwell is encouraging her fans to go to Amazon.com and mark all negative reviews of her work as not helpful as she contends that these negative reviews are harming her sales.

Give me a break!

Cards and books...

I've been a busy bee - I made my friend Madeline some note cards to send along with her funny thank-you card.  I even put my Cricut to use - one of these days I'll make something really spectacular with it!  I've only had it a year or so - sometimes gadgets elude me.  The Cricut and its design software is one of those gadgets - but I will master it one of these days...

As you can see by the stack of books on my table - I've had my nose in a book since last weekend.  I read the rest of Ford County Stories by John Grisham.  I think those short stories are some of his best work yet.  I also read Dying for Mercy by Mary Jane Clark - very suspenseful.  She's closing in on her former mother-in-law for the title of Queen of Suspense!  I'm in the middle of Patricia Cornwell's The Scarpetta Factor - and I am once again questioning why I even bother with her books any more.  Her plots just get more and more outlandish and I had forgotten how seriously sick I am of how perfect and noble she makes Kay out to be.  Lucy's angst is now just annoying, Benton is as big a jerk as he ever was and Marino - well, just when you think he can't get any more stereotypical detective on you - he's off and running on another cliched tangent.  I'd pass it along to Richard right now but I hate not finishing a book.  Besides, I have to finish it so I can complain about how excruciating reading it was.  I've only ever not finished two books in my life - both of them in the past year - imagine that!  It took me this long to figure out that it's really okay not to finish reading a book if you don't like it.  And I've been reading since I was four!

Dependability...

is a virtue.  At least that's how I was raised.  I've gotten myself into a state over having paid someone to do some work for me who seems to be in no hurry to complete it.  We had a small disagreement last week over how much she had been paid (in advance!) and how much of the work had already been completed.  Even after that, she left early that day and didn't complete the whole job.  I mean, honestly, would you clean someone's house all except for the bathroom and then say that you really didn't feel like doing it and that you'd come back another day to finish?  How do I respond to that?  I really shouldn't let it bother me because I've only hired her to work for me in order to help her out - sort of like an offering in action.  But it makes me wonder if she is like this with all of her clients - and if she is, that explains why she is always looking for work and for new clients.  So now, six days later, I have cleaned my own bathroom while waiting for her to clear time on her busy schedule.   Grrrrr!  Richard says I have just got to stop trying to rescue people; my controlling nature just sets me into a tizzy when they don't get their act together and behave the way I think they should.  I know that makes me sound like an uptight bitch, but it is what it is. 

And I am what I am.  I'm just saying.

Why I do not have children...

See this?  Crying, shrieking baby - completely out of control with a mother who is either unable or unwilling to stop the tantrum.  Somewhere outside my office - at least fifty feet away - there is a shrieking child whom I cannot see, but can hear loudly and clearly.  This has been going on for at least fifteen minutes.  I suspect it's someone outside the local gambling establishment (yet another story) sitting with the kids while the friend or significant other is inside gambling away the milk and diaper money.  Probably the same people I see in the grocery store with carts full of beer and junk food who smack their crying children and say, "If you don't shut up, I'll give you something to cry about."  Like that ever works.  My mother used to say that to us.

I'm so cynical today.  Which is probably another reason why God never allowed me to have children - well, that and the fact the I didn't get married until I was 37.  An interesting, and yet somehow confusing, correlation which I have explained to many people, believe me.

It goes like this:

"Do you have children?"

"No - I didn't get married until I was 37."

"Yes, but did you have children before that?"

At which point I want to say, "No, you dumbass - don't you know that marriage comes before children?"

But instead, I just smile and change the subject.  And, of course, now I am thankful that I don't have a teenager with too much make-up and multiple piercings making me nuts during the throes of menopause at the advanced age of 51.  Because I'd have to be a lot nicer and stop using dumbass at the end of every sentence. 

I've been minding my own business...

avoiding persons engaged in public urination - and in voicing my objections thereto - and I've decided that it's time for a little staycation.  Ever have one of those days you feel like you're going to come unglued if just one more person asks you a stupid question?  Or if the phone rings one more time?  I'm there.  And I've been there for about a week.  And I really need to do something about it.  Tomorrow.

And that is all I have to say about that...

Remember the saying: The customer is always right?  Wrong.  Maybe I'm just in a perverse mood today, or it could have something to do with the fact that I do not suffer fools gladly, but I have just made a unilateral executive decision and instituted a new company policy:  I am right until satisfactorily proven wrong by any pain-in-the-ass customer.  Contrary to current popular belief, there is only one correct answer to a simple, one W2 tax return for a single person with no itemized deductions.  It does not matter where you go or who prepares your tax return, the tax tables, standard deductions, personal exemptions and new Making Work Pay credit are all the same.  If my software says you're getting back a paltry $600 (as if $600 isn't a windfall these days!), then so will the software at any other reputable tax preparation firm.  If the software didn't all calculate the same results given the same variables, then it wouldn't be certified by the IRS.  It's as simple as that - yet people who are looking for free money want to argue and refund shop.  I almost lost it today with a particularly annoying fellow, who incidentally was born six years after I graduated from college, who wanted to know how long I'd been doing this and if I was sure about his refund.  He said he was going to go somewhere else and see if he could get more money.  I wished him luck.  And don't let the door smack you in the butt on the way out.  I swear, if he comes back I am telling him to get out and shove his $40 up his bum, buck by buck.  I have a feeling my new client price is going to be short-lived - or will only apply at my discretion for normal people who really need some help.  That's why it doesn't suck being the boss.

Black Friday...

I wonder how it got that name?  I, for one, am not shopping today.  At all.  For anything.  Anywhere.  I wouldn't, even if I had some extra money to spend.  The stores have had Christmas stuff out since Halloween.  It's deplorable.  Down with commercialism!  When I came to the office this morning, the Target parking lot was full to overflowing at 10:00 am!  I wonder what these retailers would do if we all decided to make homemade gifts one year?

My phone hasn't rung and no one has come in, but I've had lots of time to work on Christmas cards and catch-up work.  I'm in a better mood and so I've decided not to be so bah-humbug this year.  This isn't the first holiday season I've been alone and I am sure it won't be the last.  So, I'm getting out my decorations on Tuesday - I have to wait until at least December first!  A Merry Christmas will be had by all.